12 Bottles of Vodka
by FireBreathingNinja
Summary: Based of the picture "12 Days of Hetalia" on deviantArt! Originally planning to post all 12 days into a single story, I realized that it would be utterly impossible for me - I just thought of this last Thurday and have 9 more to write. So, I shall post each as its own separate oneshot when finished. The 12th day, this one features Russia and his family one Christmas evening. Enjoy!


**Disclaimer: I do not own these 12 Days—I saw them in a picture and thought that I just **_**had **_**to write oneshots for each of them! It was a serious **_**must**_**. I do not own Hetalia…. Yet. Sir Claus and I are actually in the middle of a discussion.**

**Me: Give me Hetalia!  
SC: No.  
Me: Gosh darnit!**

**(Clearly, I am winning.)**

*12 Bottles of Vodka*

Russia placed himself flat against the carpeted floor, and peered downstairs through the space between the silver pillars of the staircase. Violet eyes caught the figure of his older sister, Ukraine, milling about the first floor—she was more than likely adding the final touches to the holiday decorations as well as making the final preparations for 'The Holy Supper '. The scents of the traditional porridge, light incense, and bread wafting from below confirmed these suspicions. Russia's eyes swept the rest of the lower floor, searching vainly for his younger sister, Belarus. Unfortunately, from his vantage point, he could only see the foyer, kitchen, and cellar door, leaving the living and dining room complete mysteries. Russia swallowed thickly, anxiously grasping the stair rails, cold from the silver seeping into his bare hands and increasing the chilling fear that sat in the pit of his stomach.

"Hello, Big Brother." The light, tinkling voice sent terrible shivers down the man's spine. Russia did not rise, nor look at the girl. He continued to stare downwards, fear only visible by the slight widening of his eyes.

"G-Good evening, Belarus," Russia greeted mildly, cursing at himself for stuttering. Belarus released a soft sigh from above him, and he heard her swish her numerous skirts around.

"Oh, Ivan, I've told you many times before: Call me 'Natalya'. We're going to be married soon, after all."

Russia chose then to rise, getting on his hands and knees before lifting himself onto his feet. He did not respond to Belarus's comment immediately, deciding that it would be best to be in position to either 'fight or flight'—the latter being the most attractive option—before he angered the young woman. When he was on his two feet he stared down into Belarus's eyes, dark and unpredictable blue daring to compliment and contrast with his own bright and unpredictable violet eyes.

"Do not call me 'Ivan'," He told her, trying to hide the trembling of his hands as he did so.

Belarus cocked her head to the side, pale blonde locks falling to one shoulder innocently, "Why not, Big Brother? We love each other, yes?" Her head snapped sharply back in place and her eyes narrowed, "And we are to be married."

Russia gulped, taking a large step backwards toward the staircase, no longer meeting the girl's cold gaze. "No, Be-Belarus," He said, "We do not love each other." He flinched when he felt her chilling eyes pierce his skin, "I love you as a sister, yes, but we will not marry," He finished.

Silence from his sister.

Russia chuckled nervously, "Well if that is all…" He took another step towards the staircase. Suddenly, he felt hands on both sides of his face, and he was met with the none-too-surprisingly raging Belarus.

"WE WILL BE MARRIED!" She screeched, and stood on her tiptoes to place a firm kiss on the larger country's lips.

Russia screamed and shoved her off of him, attempting to ignore the unpleasant burning of his lips, and raced down the stairs, his large feet thudding heavily against them.

"You cannot run from me, my love!"

He ran faster.

"Ukraine!"

The older country had just stepped out of the dining room when her younger brother threw himself at her body, clutching her pink apron and burying his face into her chest. Surprised, the woman patted the larger man's grey head, asking him what the problem was. The Russian did not respond, but it took only a single glance towards her youngest sibling to piece everything together.

"Belarus—"

"Tell him!" The young girl demanded, pointing a finger towards Russia, "Tell him that he and I are to be married, Big Sister!"

Ukraine frowned, continuing to pat the man's head, "Belarus, you cannot force little Russia to do what he does not wish." She looked down at the man wrapped around her. Said country only buried his face deeper into her chest.

"But we love each other," Belarus pointed out meekly, clutching her arms around herself, "Anything is possible with the power of love, yes?" She cast a pitiful look towards her sister.

The voluptuous woman pursed her lips, "Well, perhaps…" She felt terrible when Russia gave her an even more pitiful look than her sister.

"What?" He squeaked.

"Well, if you maybe gave Belarus a chance…?"

"Yes!" Belarus said delightedly.

"No!" Russia practically shouted, and threw himself out of Ukraine's arms and into the cellar, locking the door behind him.

*12 Bottles of Vodka*

Russia sat in one of the farthest and darkest corners of the cellar, the one that just so happened to be placed beside the store of vodka. In shifting to get comfortable—as he knew he was going to stare there for a good amount of time—he lightly kicked the shelving of vodka, making the glass bottles tinkle mockingly cheerfully beside him. He listened as his two sisters argued from the kitchen, Belarus blaming Ukraine for letting Russia escape into the small space, and Ukraine attempting to dissuade the younger woman from using Russia's pipe to break the door open—the large man prayed that the former would succeed in doing so. He had almost full confidence in her, as mollifying the terrifying Belarus seemed to be her natural talent. In fact he remembered one time in particular that her persuasion skills had saved him from Belarus's fury.

"_Marry me, Ivan! Marry me, marry me, marry me!"_

_A small Ivan sat huddled at the base of a tree, sobbing into the arms of his pale, woolen coat. An even younger Belarus stood before him, drowning in the long folds of her dark dress, holding a stick and beginning to smack him over the head with it. The sobbing grew louder as each of the hits grew harder each time._

"_Leave me alone!" Russia begged, bringing his hands to shield his throbbing noggin._

"_Not until you say 'yes'!" She raised the stick to deliver a final blow, before it was snatched away._

"_Belarus, what did I say about violence?" Ukraine scolded. Belarus growled, before stealing the weapon back from her._

"_It was only a game, Ukraine. You are so boring." This made the taller girl pout._

"_I am not! But I'll leave if it's only a game." She smiled at Russia, "Keep having fun!" And she left, leaving him to be the victim of Belarus's abuse once more._

Russia frowned at the memory, snatching a bottle of vodka from the rack in front of him and downing it. So maybe that was not the best memory of his Ukraine's heroism. He chose instead to think about how kind Ukraine always was to him.

_Russia sat in one of the meetings, resting his chin in one of his dark, gloved hands, and watched one of the Baltic countries present his idea to the other countries. In truth, he had no idea what the man was saying, but it was nice seeing him squirm as Russia unfalteringly smiled in his direction._

_The doors of the meeting place suddenly slammed open, and Ukraine came bounding into the room, breasts swinging obnoxiously about as she ran towards Russia's seat that sat on the opposite side of the room. Russia tried to ignore the stares that he and his sister were getting as the woman greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a hug—in which his face was shoved into her bosom and she put him in a near choke-hold._

"_Hello, Little Brother!" She said happily as she released him, "How is the meeting?"_

"_It is nearly over, Ukraine," Russia coughed out, "I am afraid you are interrupting it, however…," He trailed off._

_Ukraine gasped, "Oh my goodness! I am so sorry! Oh, but here," She placed a woven basket of bottled milk directly in front of him, "I just came to give you these! Warm milk, it is, fresh from the cow!" She exclaimed proudly, "I just milked her his morning!"_

_Russia attempted a smile, "T-Thank you, Sister," He said, beginning to remove the basket from the table._

"_Are you not going to try some?" Ukraine sounded disappointed._

"_Oh, of course!" And Russia could not stand to see his sister upset. Later, when Ukraine had left, Russia would be in the restroom stall, removing the disgustingly warm and unfiltered milk from his system._

Russia snatched another bottle of vodka from the shelf. That seemed to not have been the best memory either. One more try.

Ten bottles later, Russia laid spread passed out on the floor of the cellar. An hour later, Ukraine and Belarus had finally chosen to wrench open the cellar door and had found him, afterwards carrying him to his bedroom where Estonia and Latvia took care of him for the rest of the night—'The Holy Supper' tradition, for the first time in thousands of years in the Braginski household—was neglected.

Merry Christmas, Ivan.

**Author's Note of Awesomeness:**

**So the rest of the 12 Days of Christmas will most likely be posted separately… That is, unless inspiration decides to hit me with a bus and I get some serious writing done by tomorrow night! ^^ I know, it's weird, but that's how it's working for me.**

**OH-THE-IRRELEVANCE: … I got nothin'…**

**You like? You no like? LET ME KNOW IN A REVIEW, YEAH?!**

**Happy Holidays to y'all!**


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